just an old poet…

don’t write me
no epic poems
bout life’s struggles
don’t
need
your words
i lived it
and
don’t tell me
how
some
shiny city
on
the hill
awaits
me
cause
there ain’t no bus service
from
this part of town
to
there
oh your voice
still
resonates
with
hope and faith
but
you’ve yet
to
really
start your journey
after
you’ve toiled
in the smog
of
injustice
and
hate
for
a while
then
try clearing your throat
and
say those words
again
hell
did you really believe
there was a chance
for
unity
even when
a wannabe dictator
tried to overthrow
the government
with
murder and mayhem
congress
couldn’t join together
to do
the right thing
so please
read your optimistic
onomatopoeia lines
to yourself
cause
unity
has not
or
ever will be
possible
when hate
is seared
into
the hearts
of
people

 

interference patterns…

by just looking
at it
one might
draw
some
negative conclusions
for
the case
is
well worn
it’s
wooden shell
shows
its age
and
how
hard
it’s been
handled
over the years
some parts
are
tarnished
resembling
the color
of
gray hair
other parts
are
dented
and
i doubt
work
anymore
but
when you look
inside
it still maintains
its
youthful beauty
my old
kaleidoscope

 

formlessness…

like staring
at
stars
we seek
to
find
familiar patterns
of
understanding
for
the amorphous hate
residing
in the heart
of
this nation
we
conjure up
through
our incantations
of
the sacred words
we the people
the
mythical spirits
of
freedom
and
morality
only to hear
the despairing echo
of
our own voices
voices
resonating
in the emptiness
of
each day
yet we
continue
our
self-hypnotic chants
as if
the very words
can charge
the chaotic
into
a form
we can understand
and
thus change
but
like
the centuries
of
incurable believers
before
us
our invocations
are
all for naught

 

a worthwhile read…

it’s a nice story
buried tween pages of muck
how love can prevail
when the world creates chaos
a light in all the darkness

 

now that was helpful…

love’s fluidity
makes defining
difficult
if
not
impossible
thus
the perfect subject
for
dreamy
lovesick poets
proposing endless lines
of
poetry
about
the undefinable
fine
melodic verses
revealing
nothing
at all
about
what lies
concealed
within
the soul